Why Drinking is Bad For You
by youbstrds
Summary: It all begins with a fateful bottle of vodka and a drinking game. Stan and Kyle create problems that they cannot keep hidden. Stan/Kyle COMPLETE
1. Noone wants to be Chewie

Prohibited goods were always available, if you knew where to look. How hard it was to obtain them naturally depended heavily on the good in question. The one currently contained in Stan's bag had only been marginally harder to obtain than chocolates in a candy store. His fake I. wasn't great; had the store clerk peered at it for any longer than a millisecond, he might have had second thoughts about handing over a bottle of vodka. But luckily for Stan, the clerk had important jobs to do, such as texting his friends about how unbelievably boring his life was, and so, five years underage, he got the good.

"Did you get it?" Cartman demanded the moment Stan opened the door. "Did you, did you, did you?"

"I got it, fatass," Stan informed him, plonking down on the sofa next to Kyle before opening his bag. "No trouble. You got anything to mix it with?"

"Mixers are for pussies! Watch this!" Cartman grabbed the bottle and took a swig. He choked and pulled a face. "I'll go get the coke. This is clearly lame vodka."

"The clerk didn't catch on that the ID was fake?" Kyle asked, the relief clear in his voice.

"Nah. I think he wanted to get back to rearranging the top shelf magazines."

"That's what I would do," Kenny interrupted, flicking through a magazine of that type on the floor. "Wow, this girl's boobs are HOT!"

"We know, Kenny," said Kyle.

"I brought the coke, you guys!" Cartman had returned, laden down with soda and glasses. "So let's play a drinking game!"

"Like what?" Kyle asked, taking a glass and preparing his and Stan's drinks.

"Liiiike, we could watch a movie, and drink anytime something special happens!"

"Like what?" Stan asked, helping himself to his drink. He coughed. "Dude, this stuff is strong!"

"Like we could watch _Schindler's List_, and drink everytime something bad happens to a Jew!"

"Shut up, Cartman, you fat piece of shit!"

"Fine, if you wanna be boring, we could watch _Star Wars_ and drink everytime we see a stormtrooper! Or everytime someone gets shot! Or both!"

"We'll be comatose before it's an hour in!" said Stan.

"Stop being a pussy and learn to drink!"

Halfway through _A New Hope_, Cartman had failed himself. He was slouched over in a corner, snoring gently. Kenny too had failed to resist the fatigue-inducing effects of alcohol and was passed out on the floor. Stan and Kyle were hardly in better conditions, but at least they were conscious. They were not, however, paying the slightest bit of attention to the film that was playing.

"No, you're Chewbacca," Kyle insisted, prodding Stan in the chest with more force than he'd intended. "'Cause...'cause...you're hairier."

"What? Looked at your hair in the mirror lately?" countered Stan, gesticulating wildly and spilling most of his drink in the process. "You've got volume, dude."

"Yeah, well, you...you're inarticulate. Like a wookiee."

"How can you say inar- inat- that word at a time like this?"

"'Cause I'm not a wookiee!" said Kyle triumphantly.

"Well, I can kiss! Ask Wendy! Wookiees can't kiss!"

"How'd you know?"

"Has Chewbacca ever kissed anyone?"

"Uh. How should I know?"

"There! I'm Han Solo and youuu're just a wookiee!"

"I can kiss!" Kyle grabbed Stan and kissed him hard on the lips. Stan broke away, laughing.

"Wookiee kiss, wookiee kiss!"

"What? No way!"

"That's how a wookiee would kiss! You have to be less...thingy. More like this." Stan pulled Kyle close and kissed him gently.

"Like this?" Kyle tried again, letting his lips rest gently on Stan's.

"You need some pressure." Kyle tried again. Stan's tongue slipped into his mouth and he jerked back, shocked.

"What the hell were you doing?" asked Kyle, shrinking back to the corner of the sofa.

"Teaching you! Now come back here, wookiee!"

"I'm not a wookiee!" Kyle climbed on top of Stan, pinned him down onto the sofa and kissed him once more, this time taking the initiative in tongue action. Stan wrapped his arms around him and together they laid, kissing and teasing until sleep finally took hold of them.

Ice cold water woke them from their stupor. Both jumped from their positions, body parts still entangled, and managed to smack their already aching heads together.

"Ow! What the hell, Cartman?" Kyle demanded, rubbing the stinging spot on his head.

"You two were being fags on my sofa!" Cartman barked, throwing another bucked of water onto them. "Stop fagging up the place!"

"We weren't being fags!" said Stan, falling back onto the sofa.

"The Jew was lying on you! Don't lie to me!"

"We had been wrestling," said Kyle, managing to think between the heavy thumps in his head. "And we just passed out like that."

Cartman glared at them both, but, being worse for wear himself, was content to merely throw his third and final bucket of water over them before waddling off elsewhere.

"Jesus, my head's killing me," Stan moaned. "How much did we drink?"

"No idea, but that bottle is empty now. I need an aspirin."

"Should we go home for them?"

Kyle laughed with little mirth. "I'm sure my mom would love to give me hangover cures."

"Good point. Let's just die here a bit longer." They lazed on the sofa, both occasionally groaning about how they were in agony. Both were struggling to comprehend the previous night's events. The difficulty of understanding that they had kissed their best friend, who was another guy, which brought up all kinds of questions, would be hard enough to tackle at any point. At a time when comprehending how to move from the sofa was a mammoth intellectual challenge, it was impossible. Their thoughts went around in unchanging circles. _I kissed my best friend. Does he remember? I kissed him, oh shit, I kissed him. Maybe he won't remember. I kissed him! _Their painful thought processes were interrupted by a damp Cartman's reappearance, dressed in only a towel.

"Why haven't you fags gone home? Don't have sex on my sofa!" he said.

"We're in pain. Haven't you got any aspirin?" said Stan.

"It's not my fault you're hurting because of anal sex!"

"We didn't have sex, Cartman, now get us some aspirin. And where's Kenny?" snapped Kyle.

"Puking in the toilet. Or cleaning up the puke. He keeps switching between the two. And I'll give you aspirin if...you tell me what you fags were doing on my sofa!"

"We told you, Cartman, we were wrestling. Can we have aspirin now?" said Stan.

"Hmmm...no. You can have aspirin after Kyle sucks my cock!"

"What? No way am I doing that!"

"What's wrong with my cock? It'll taste just as good as Stan's, Kyle, you cock-hungry Jew!"

"That's it, I'm going home!" Kyle announced, hopping off the sofa.

"Same here. See you later, douche." Stan followed Kyle out of the house. They stumbled along together, Kyle groaning especially loudly.

"Dude, you cannot go home like this," said Stan. "Your mom'll murder you. Wanna come die at mine?"

"How could I resist an offer like that?"


	2. Role models are important

A/N: This is not a one shot story. In total, there will be about 7 chapters. Sorry for any confusion!

Role Models are Important

Stan's home was naturally a safer place for two underage, hungover boys. Stan's mom was so accustomed to Randy's drinking habits that dealing with other people's hangovers was just another part of life. Stan's dad himself, they knew, would just chuckle. The only potential problem was Shelley, who was liable to seize on this opportunity to torment her turd brother by being especially boisterous. But even she was hardly a match for the wrath of Sheila Broflovski, who could well go on a rampage to bring down alcohol in America – and might well succeed.

When the two finally dragged their corpse-like bodies through the door, they were greeted by Stan's underpants clad father. As expected, in response to seeing them both he merely raised an eyebrow and laughed.

"Looks like you two went a bit far last night!" said Randy, completely without irony. "Better get yourselves to bed."

"I can't sleep," mumbled Kyle. "If I'm gone too long, mom'll ring Cartman to find out where I am."

"No problem, I'll ring her for you. I'll tell her you've gone to play basketball with Stan."

"Really? You're the best, Mr Marsh."

"I know, I know. I was young too once and could have done with a dad as great as me. Now you two get some rest."

They didn't need much persuasion. Stan was soon collapsed in his bed. Kyle sunk down onto the floor. This was undoubtedly a dangerous move. There is no telling what is on the floors of teenage boys' bedrooms and Stan's floor was no exception. Through sheer luck, Kyle was sat on no worse than a sweaty football shirt, some pencils and a torch.

"Your floor's hard," he groaned. He pulled some of the collection of objects out from under him.

"Come in here then," said Stan, wriggling over to make room for Kyle. "I can't be bothered getting a sleeping bag."

"Okay." Kyle crawled into Stan's bed. They were quickly dozing. Their slumber lasted what felt like only a few seconds (in reality, they had lost the majority of the day) as they were awoken by knocking on Stan's door. Stan sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked around him, trying to regain his bearings. In bed, but light outside. Bed smaller than usual. He examined his bed. It was not smaller than usual. It merely had an extra occupant. Stan smiled down at the slowly stirring Kyle, but as Kyle's elbow collided with Stan's ribs he realised that this was not a dream. A real, live Kyle was in his bed, and continuing with the course of action that he had just been beginning to formulate was definitely a bad idea.

"Stan? It's dad," Randy called from the other side. Kyle quickly bolted upright and scrambled out of Stan's bed, his usual waking process compressed by fear. They might know that what had unfolded had been entirely innocent, but neither was foolish enough to assume that others would read their actions the same way.

"Come in, dad," called Stan. Randy entered, carrying bags of Kentucky Fried Chicken and a bottle of coke.

"I guessed you two would need this. I've got experience. And, you know, I'm kinda cool..."

"Sure, dad. Thanks. You're the best." Stan's voice was monotonous and frequently interrupted by yawns, but his dad evidently didn't care. He wandered off again, beaming at his new-found status as a cool dad. The boys ate, drank and gradually began to feel more human again.

"Dude, last night was crazy," said Kyle, once he could no longer eat for fear of bursting.

"Yeah, I know." There was a pause in which a thousand words were forced to remain unspoken. "What do you wanna do now?"

"Oh, boys!" There was another knock at the door. Stan rolled his eyes.

"Come in, dad." Randy entered, holding out a six-pack.

"Thought you two could do with a little hair of the dog," he said. He winked, but just gave the appearance of having failing eyesight rather than perpetuating his reputation as a cool, down-with-the-kids dad.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, dad."

"Come on! You guys chicken? You're never gonna stop being lightweights unless you man up!"

"But dad-" Stan's protest was cut short by Randy's chicken impersonations. "Dad, you're embarrassing me!"

"Stanley, unless you drink you will _never_ stop being embarrassed by my ability to drink more than you!"

"That's not what I meant!" The chicken noises and actions continued.

"Dammit, dad, I'll drink!" Stan seized a can, opened it and downed the entirety of its contents.

"That's my boy, son. See you later." Randy went out, closing the door behind him.

"Are you sure that was a good idea?" Kyle asked him. "Remember how crap we were feeling earlier?"

"It got rid of him," Stan shrugged.

Now they were both capable of thinking coherently once more, the events of last night swam before them again. Both contemplated what they had done. Both considered how enjoyable the experience felt at the time. Both hesitantly reached for a can of beer. A can turned into two. The remaining can was shared between the two of them.

"Kyyyle."

"Whaaaat?"

"Take off your hat."

"What the hell, Stan?"

"Just do iiit."

"No!"

"Why not? I'm your best friend forever! An' that's enough to have you taken off life supports for life, so you can at the very least take off your hat!"

"You wanna PSP?"

"No, I just want your hat off!"

"Why?"

"Kyyyyle, it won't be funny if I tell you!"

"Fine!" Kyle pulled his hat off. The afro burst forth. Giggling, Stan reached for an empty can. He placed it delicately on top of Kyle's hair.

"It's staying there! It's staying there! Dude, you can use your hair as a shelf!"

"Very funny, Stan!" Kyle grabbed Stan's hat and tore it off his head. Stan's can rolled onto the floor, unnoticed, as Kyle took another can and placed it on Stan's head. "It's staying-" The can, however, did not share Kyle's plans on that day and topped off Stan's head. Kyle picked it up and put it back on again. "It's staying, see!"

"You're holding it on!" Stan waved Kyle's arm out of the way. The can fell down. Kyle reached for it but Stan grabbed hold of his arms and pushed him to the ground. "You're not doing that again!"

"Yes, I am!" Kyle rolled Stan over and pulled an arm free. Stan grabbed it again. Kyle changed tactics. He tickled Stan's stomach. Stan laughed, swore at Kyle, wriggled, but his grip on Kyle's arms did not break. In spite of the wriggling Stan below him, who was still restraining his arms, Kyle managed to continue his assault. Stan's hold on Kyle's arms finally broke. He grabbed Kyle's shoulders and threw him to the ground beside him. He was on top of Kyle before Kyle even realised what had happened.

"Behave," Stan growled. They were nose to nose, writhing together in an attempt to best one another. Neither knew when they started kissing. Their lips kept touching as they moved. Whether by accident or design, the touches became more frequent until the attention of both boys was entirely focused on the other's mouth.

Kyle's hand slipped up Stan's shirt. He tickled the exposed flesh. Stan squirmed against him. Following the successful expedition of the first, Kyle's other hand followed where no man had been before. His hands travelled upwards, tickling the sensitive flesh of Stan's underarms. From there, flicking Stan's shirt off completely was no challenge whatsoever.

"I'll get you for that, bastard!" Stan rolled off Kyle then seized his top. It slipped off Kyle's body easily. Kyle get up and pressed Stan against the wall.

"Then I'll get you back!"

"No way!" Stan pushed Kyle back onto his bed. Kyle threw the duvet over himself.

"Fine, I'm going to sleep."

"What? In my bed?"

"Yeah!"

"So am I!" Stan climbed into bed beside Kyle, who immediately seized him and began kissing him once again.

It was some time before either fell asleep.


	3. Early morning questions

Early Morning Questions

There are certain things you just don't want to be confronted with when you wake up. Bills. Test results. Phone calls. Reasons to doubt your sexuality. It was the latter which was currently causing Stan considerable anguish. One night of drunken homosexual antics was bad. Two in a row made it look like it could become a habit. Occasional daydreams could be forgiven, even on a daily basis, as they were trapped safely in his head. Acting like this and it was only a matter of time before the trouble would really begin.

"Goddammit," Stan swore under his breath. He wanted to get out of bed, but his arm was trapped under Kyle, and he didn't really want to make him – no, he did. He wasn't some pussy boyfriend. Kyle was a friend, a male friend, a _platonic _male friend, in spite of all evidence to the contrary (which was mounting fast) and Stan intended to treat him how guys treated their guy friends. He pulled his arm out.

As expected, Kyle stirred. His eyelids flickered open and closed, then he gave a discomforted sigh before drifting back into sleep again. So Stan had no need to be feeling guilty, even if he had been feeling guilty. Which, it hardly needed to be said, he most certainly did not. Stan staggered out of his bed and picked up a t-shirt. He realised it wasn't his own. He dropped it quickly and put on another one.

He made his way over to his X-Box, fully intent on playing it like he didn't care if he woke Kyle, but his plans were interrupted by the sound of heavy coughing behind him. He turned. Kyle was still lying down, but even with his body under the covers Stan could see his body shaking with the force of the coughs.

"Dude, are you sick?" Stan asked. His brain was evidently not yet functional this soon after waking up.

"Dunno," mumbled Kyle. "Maybe. Head hurts." Stan went over and felt his forehead.

"Jesus, you're burning up! You'd better go home!"

"Dammit. Mom. Will. Lock me away. No hanging out." Kyle's coughing fit continued unabated.

"What if I get you home and take care of you? She might not notice." He knew, even as he said it, that this was highly unlikely.

"Worth. Shot."

Stan hurried downstairs and managed to enlist his mom's help in taking Kyle home. Their arrival was perfectly timed; the Broflovskis were all out shopping. Stan ushered Kyle up to bed and headed for the medicine cabinet. He rooted through it, uncomfortably aware as he did so that he was as informed about the whereabouts of items in Kyle's home as he was in his own. The two of them were practically dating as it was. Should he have been surprised at what they did when they were less inhibited?

He brought cough medicine, paracetamol and soup up to Kyle. His friend looked no better than he had when he had first awoken. His skin was drained, his eyes were red and the bags under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. Stan wondered how long Kyle had been coughing for. Stan was able to sleep through his dad coming home drunk and banging into walls, so he could have easily missed his friend's ongoing agony.

"Feeling any better?" he asked as his friend medicated himself from the boxes Stan had brought. There was no question that he'd gone through this routine hundreds of times.

"A bit," Kyle replied. He sipped at the soup, then smiled weakly at Stan. "Thanks, dude."

"No problem. You up to some video games?"

"Sure."

Stan fired up the console and battled his fishy computer opponent on _Sole Calibre_ until Kyle had finished eating. They fought for a while, both boys content as the afternoon slipped away. Stan even managed to distract Kyle's mother and prevent her from bothering Kyle. When going down for more juice for Kyle, he mentioned how he and Stan were hard at work on a biology project. Her offers to bring up cookies quickly came to a halt when Stan told her it was on the heart and involved watching operations on the internet. When the time came for Stan to leave, Kyle had improved, although he was still far from well.

Stan walked home feeling more worried about his friend's wellbeing than the implications of what they had done together. It wasn't just the illness, but whether or not his mother would begin coddling him even more in future. Stan personally doubted that Kyle had fallen ill because he had been out (though it wouldn't have helped) but Mrs Broflovski was likely to conclude that it would be safer for Kyle to stay in more. Maybe she wouldn't even allow him to stay over at other people's houses again.

Later, when he was messing about on his computer, the phone rang. He picked up the receiver, expecting to hear Kyle's voice, or maybe Mrs Broflovski's shrill tones, but his ear was greeted with a yell of, "You FAG!"

"What the hell, Cartman?"

"I _KNOW _what you and the Jewfag did! ON MY SOFA! You sick FUCKS!"

"What're you on about?"

"I saw the video!"

"What video?"

"I have a camera in my living room and I saw what you did!"

"You – what – why the hell do you have a camera in there?" Stan stalled, hoping that this was just a bluff.

"So I can blackmail anyone who tries to screw my mom! There are cameras all over my house!"

"Sick, dude!"

"Oh yeah? I'm not the one giggling and making out with a wookiee!"

Stan's heart froze in his chest. His flesh burned. He didn't hear Cartman yelling down the phone about what a sick, sick fag he was and how he had tainted his sofa forever and how he was going to rot in hell, and very, very soon at that, as Cartman would send both him and his Jewfag down there personally. He only came out of his immobile state when Cartman announced that at least, "I'm getting a million hits from YouToob from people laughing at you faggy fags fagging!"

"What?!"

"I put it on YouToob, Jewfag lover! Search for 'Gay Wookiee Love' and you can relive that night's magical events, sicko!" Cartman slammed the phone down. Stan stood where he was for a minute, still clutching the telephone, before bolting to his computer. Hands shaking, he searched for the video.

It was his first hit. He could see that it had several hundred thousand views already. He didn't even know that many people. How many of those knew him? Who had Cartman told? He didn't need to ask him. He realised that Cartman would have told everyone he had met that day, he would have rung the whole class, he would have sent Butters off to get the message out to the whole city.

He was completely screwed for the rest of his life.


	4. A Revisionist View of History

A Revisionist View of History

Sniggering people surrounded Stan on all sides as he hurried along the school corridor, head bowed down. Already he had lost count of how many times people had yelled out to him about wookiees and his new boyfriend. He couldn't decide whether or not it was a good thing that Kyle was still bedridden. He really, really could do with the moral support of someone who knew the reality of the situation. On the other hand, clinging to his supposed boyfriend would only fuel the rumours further. The best solution would be if only he and Kyle were in school, he concluded. Get rid of all the idiots who just loved their crappy gossip. No, even better, he and Kyle would be on holiday, far away from all the morons. His reverie, involving him, Kyle and a deserted tropical island (with magically supplied electricity for their video games), was rudely destroyed by Cartman shouting at him.

"What was that, you fat fuck?" Stan asked, glaring at the source of all his current problems.

"I said, where's your boyfriend?" The whole corridor had closed in on them. Stan felt eyes boring into him from all directions.

"He's home sick. And he's not my boyfriend!"

"What, you totally wrecked him? Not that it would take much to beat his Jew-ass."

"I didn't wreck him! And he could take you anyday, fatass!"

"Is he not putting out yet? Or don't you wanna get further contaminated with his Jew germs?"

Stan punched Cartman in the nose. His fist collided with a crunch. Blood slowly oozed out of Cartman's nose. The corridor had fallen silent for the first time in high school history.

"Whut?" Cartman touched the liquid eminating from his nostrils and held it up to inspect it. He screamed. "You – that's blood – YOU BROKE MY NOSE, YOU BASTARD FAG!" Cartman dashed off in the direction of the principal's office. Stan raced after him.

"You shouldn't have said all that!"

It came as no surprise to Stan that he was given detention for a week, even though Cartman's nose had escaped any real damage. He wasn't even surprised that the principal let Cartman off without any punishment. He took his judgement sullenly and silently. He hardly spoke to anyone during the day, feeling no compunction to speak to the idiots who surrounded him. This was just as well, as all the whole school wanted to discuss this week was his and Kyle's supposed homosexuality. Stan overheard how Bebe knew that Stan and Kyle had been dating since seventh grade, whilst Clyde talked about how he had caught the two having sex in the locker rooms one day after football practice. Butters said that he had always known the two had been attracted to each other, but he hadn't been able to bring it up with either of them. An older student Stan had never even noticed before was bragging about how he had heard Kyle ask Stan out one fateful day years ago. Cartman, of course, was seen as the centre for the fresh gossip.

"They've always been gay, you know. Kyle couldn't keep his hands out of Stan's nappies back when they were babies."

"Whooooa," his appreciative audience gasped. The knuckles on Stan's clenched fists turned white.

Stan went straight to Kyle's house after detention was over. Kyle's mom smiled at him and told him that she was glad he had come over, that his presence was sure to cheer Kyle up no end. As he started to ascend the stairs, she called up after him.

"Don't get too close to him. You don't want to get ill. That means no kissing." Stan stared down at her, aghast. "It might be better if you don't mention that video's online, too. Have fun!" She wandered off before Stan could recover. He climbed the stairs hurriedly, fearing a similar encounter with Kyle's dad.

"Hey, dude," said Stan upon entering Kyle's room. His friend looked tired. Some colour had returned to his face, but as this colour was red and centred on Kyle's sore nose, it wasn't a vast improvement.

"Hey. How was school?" Stan dumped his bag by the door and perched on Kyle's bed.

"Totally lame. I have detention for two weeks." Kyle frowned at him.

"What'd you do? I thought they cut star quarterbacks some slack?"

"Not when Cartman runs to them crying about a broken nose." Kyle visibly perked up.

"You broke Cartman's nose?"

"No! I just punched it and it bled a lot."

"Awesome. What'd he do?"

"He was a dick. So what've you been doing?" Kyle gave a hollow laugh.

"I've been sat in bed all day. I can't watch TV since it will hurt my eyes, same for playing games, going on the PC, and reading. I can't listen to the radio or anything as it'll give me headaches..."

"It's really that bad?!"

"No, but try telling that to my mom. I'm so bored I keep falling asleep."

"You still look really tired, dude."

"Great. What's Cartman been saying about me?"

"Huh? He hasn't said anything -"

"So why did my little brother ask me when I turned gay earlier?"

There was a long silence. Stan shuffled on the bed. Kyle kept staring at him expectantly, until he finally cracked.

"He's just been telling everyone he found us on the sofa."

"That's it."

"Yeah."

"Nothing to do with YouToob at _all_?" Stan sighed and looked Kyle in the eye.

"Your mom told me not to mention it to you. I was going to explain once you were better. Cartman's a douche and has cameras all over his house. He had a video of what happened...that night. He put it online." Kyle's face somehow managed to drain of what little colour remained.

"Fuck."

"Yeah. That's why I punched him."

"Oh, fuck."

"Yeah."

"Fuck fuck fuck FUCK! Do my parents know?!"

"Since your mom told me not to kiss you until you're better, I think so."

"FUCK!" Kyle burrowed beneath his bed covers and pulled his pillow over his head.

"At least she's not mad. She seems cool with it. I haven't seen my parents yet," said Stan, patting the lump in the bed in an attempt to be comforting.

"What do people at school think?" Kyle asked, his voice almost as muffled as Kenny's.

"Err..."

"Tell me the truth! I'll know if you're lying, Stan!"

"They all believe we're dating."

"Oh, FUCK!" Kyle re-emerged. His hat had fallen off and his hair had popped out. Even it seemed to be wilting a little. "I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

"I shouldn't have gotten you into this mess."

"Dude, it was me too," said Stan, feeling more than a little guilty. He wondered how much his fantasies – quickly trampled fantasies, but fantasies nonetheless – involving Kyle had influenced that drunken night. Kyle looked down at his bed.

"Yeah," he said, his discomfort clear in his voice. "But, dude..." He sighed. "Never mind. Think it'll blow over?"

"No."

"Goddammit."

"I know."

"Did anything not related to us happen today?"

"Not really."

"No fights? No dating scandals?" The desperation was strong in Kyle's voice, almost pleading. "Not even a new fashion trend?"

"No."

"Crap. Cartman really has got the word around."

"Yeah. I'm surprised he didn't tell you himself."

"Mom says using the phone will give me a headache. Same with my cell. She even took that off me earlier today."

"Jesus Christ. How have you not died of boredom?"

"Practice. I've got experience in being sick."

"How about a board game? Is that going to kill you?"

"Who knows?"

The board game did not kill Kyle. Neither did the bland, hot soup that his mom later brought for him and Stan. He even managed to stay alive until Stan had to leave. Stan wasn't so sure of his own chances of survival as he opened his front door with trepidation. His fears were confirmed as he saw his father waiting for him.

"Ah, Stan. I think we need to talk, man to man." Stan groaned, but sat down with his father. "Now, Stan, I saw a video on YouToob recently..."

"You and the whole city."

"Right. Stan, only you know if what happened was experimentation or a deeper desire manifesting itself."

"We were just drunk!"

"Sure, sure. Now, if you are...differently inclined, you know you can tell me, right?"

"Sure, dad..."

"...are you?"

"No, dad."

"Stan, tell me the truth!"

"I'm not gay, dad!"

"Fine, keep lying to yourself, Stan," his father huffed. He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Don't appreciate what an accepting father you have."

"I'm not gay!"

"Oh yeah? Where have you been?"

"At Kyle's!"

"Aha!" Randy pointed at Stan. "Caught red-handed!"

"He's my friend!"

"You're knowingly risking social ostracisation for him!"

"He's been my best friend since we were babies! I'm not gonna abandon him because of some stupid drunken night!"

"You've been gay since you were babies together! I knew it!"

"What? No!"

"Ever since that first time I caught you two kissing as babies, you've been gay together! I knew it!"

"We – we what?!" Randy waved a hand impatiently.

"I was babysitting one day. I kissed your mom goodbye when she went to the store and you asked why I did that. I told you that we kiss family. You said I kissed her more than I kissed anyone else. I explained that was because you kiss your favourite person the most. Not a football game later I find you and Kyle kissing!"

Stan stared at him. Randy rolled his eyes. He took a gulp of the beer can beside him.

"Look, if you want to hide your feelings, fine. You'll need to start avoiding Kyle, though."

"No way!"

"And play more sport. Join another football team."

"So getting sweaty with a bunch of guys and jumping on them _isn't_ gay?" Randy slammed his beer down on the table.

"Dammit, Stan, your homosexuality is clouding your view of everything! What are you going to accuse of being gay next, boxing?"

"Because prancing around in your boxers is totally straight."

"That does it, Stan! I have tried to be understanding, but if you won't co-operate, we're done!"

"Fine! Some help you ever are!" Stan stormed to his bedroom. He needed a plan. It had to end the gossip in the school, it had to be fair to Kyle and it had to be something that he could live with. He pulled out his photo album.

The album hadn't been his idea. It had been a history project back in elementary school. The teacher had tired of his students complaining that history was boring and so created a project that they could relate to.

"Pick something that's important to you and keep a record of it," he said. "The records can be anything – you can collect notes, pictures, objects – and store them someplace safe."

"Can we play in the sandpit now?"

"Sure, why not," the teacher sighed. "Just get this done for next week, okay?"

Stan and Kyle discussed the project as they fingerpainted.

"What are you gonna do?" Kyle asked as he poked his paper.

"I dunno. Let's do the same thing so it'll be less work."

"Okay. What shall we do?"

"What does 'important' mean?"

"Special."

"Oh." Stan scratched his face and accidentally painted his cheek blue. "Friendship?"

"But Cartman's our friend! He's not special!"

"Me and you?"

"Okay."

The result had been matching photograph albums. Both albums had suffered once the boys grew older and learned that what they were doing was Not Cool, but both had been sneakily updated, slowly and haphazardly, for over a decade. Stan flicked through his thoughtfully. It was likely that his dad was unaware of it; Stan had to admit that it lacked a manly edge. He watched himself and Kyle growing up together. He felt a jolt low in his body as he came to recent pictures. The holiday photos, depicting an almost naked Kyle, gave him pause for a number of thoughts. Kyle had been so innocent and happy that day and luckily hadn't noticed his best friend occasionally stealing glances at his ass.

Stan groaned. He had his plan.


	5. Revelation and Reactions

Stan went to school the next day with considerable trepidation. He had no idea how to take his plan from blueprint to concrete and was hoping that some opportunity would simply jump in front of him, waving loudly and screaming for attention. Opportunity completely failed to visit Stan on the way to school, whilst walking to class in school, whilst in class in school, so Stan decided to screw that bastard opportunity.

With grave resignation etched onto his face, he stepped onto a table during lunch period rather like a boxer stepping into the ring. The curiosity of his schoolmates had hardly abated and eyes had kept swivelling onto him even before he did anything unusual. With this simple act, Stan had captured the attention of ninety percent of the students present. Those who had failed to notice were being nudged, whispered to, and quickly hundreds of eyes were boring into Stan.

"Uh, hi," Stan began, unable to stop his nerves. "I know there's been a lot of gossip about me lately..."

"You and your little wookiee boyfriend!" someone called out.

"Yeah, thanks for that. Anyway, that's what I wanted to talk about. We're not dating." He wasn't surprised at the reaction to this assertion. Stan had never heard such a skeptical tut _en masse_; it was like hearing hundreds of ancient typewriters at work. There was a long, low murmuring. He couldn't make out all of it, but the words 'yeah, right', 'that's not what we saw' and 'denial' could be made out from those nearest to him. "I mean it. Kyle isn't gay. He's straight. He's totally not interested in me."

"Oh, yeah? And what about you Stan? What about you?" Cartman yelled. Immediately, the rabble broke out into cries of, "Yeah! What about you?"

Stan swallowed. He could do this. He knew he could. He just wished that he could have had a more typical experience, but then, when had his life ever been normal?

"I'm bi." The crowd fell silent, momentarily stunned, aside from a yell of delight from Cartman.

"I knew it, I knew it, you're a total faggy-fag!" Cartman sung.

"Shut up, douchebag," said Stan. His skin was tingling all over and he felt detached from his surroundings, like he was a visitor from another planet. "So yeah. Rip on me all you want. But I'm not dating Kyle and that's the truth."

Numb, he climbed down from the table. He could hear people all around him animatedly discussing what he'd just revealed, but their words turned to indecipherable buzzing. He seemed to move more slowly than usual; it took what felt like hours to walk out of the room. People around him waved him over, called to him, but he couldn't even consider acknowledging them.

Not knowing what to do, he went to the library. He sat in the spot he usually found Kyle in. He opened a book up in front of him but didn't read a word. He wondered how his life would change now. He was pretty sure that the change he'd just made was irreversible. He wondered how Kyle would react. He probably wouldn't be too happy. But Kyle was still out of school. He could have one last normal evening with Kyle tonight. So it was just the rest of the school, over a thousand people, that he needed to worry about.

The word was even spreading to the library. Kids who never left the book covered walls were catching word from their friends that the guy from the YouToob video had just outed himself in the school cafeteria. People kept wandering over to his corner of the library, on the obvious, flimsy pretext of needing books on the effect of global warming on women's position in the workplace, and gawking openly at Stan. Stan had no idea what they were hoping for; it wasn't as if he was hosting his own little gay disco in the back of the library, but the droves kept coming nevertheless. He was relieved when the bell rang, declaring lunchtime over. Life wasn't going to get any easier for him, but at least it was passing.

He could hear the hubbub of his classmates chattering from the other end of the corridor, but as soon as he passed the threshold they all fell silent. They watched him make his way over to his desk, watched him sit down, watched him look out of the window. Their stares followed him to his next class, which was just as full of people staring at him. The staring continued right through the afternoon, through his journey from school, until Stan reached the safety of Kyle's house. He knew that it was a bad move. He didn't care. He was entitled to one last peaceful evening with his best friend, consequences be damned.

"How was school?" Kyle asked, reading his friend's face with worry.

"Crap."

"People still giving you shit about that video?"

"Yeah, but I've got it under control." Stan slumped into Kyle's chair and switched on his computer.

"Really? How?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Huh? Why tomorrow?"

"It'll be easier," Stan lied. He checked his email. Already over a hundred new emails, some from good friends, some from acquaintances, some from people he didn't even know, all offering themselves as Stan's confidants during this difficult time. He deleted them all.

"If you're sure," said Kyle, a little doubtfully.

"How're you feeling, anyway?"

"Lots better, except mom's still claiming that I shouldn't strain myself by doing anything more strenuous that sitting upright."

"That sucks, dude."

"I know. But after I go back to school tomorrow, she'll have no reason to stop me doing stuff normally."

"You're going back to school tomorrow?" Stan asked, unable to keep a twinge of dismay from his voice. One evening it was.

"Sure. Why? I thought you said it was under control?"

"It is. Wanna play a board game again?"

"Stan, what's going on? You look really worried."

"It's just been a stressful day, okay?"

"All right, all right. Grab a game from the wardrobe."

Stan did so. He was clumsier than normal in setting up the pieces, but Kyle diplomatically failed to comment on this. They played amicably for a while, Stan eventually even forgetting his school related worries. Kyle's mom came in later in the evening to bring them stew.

"Be careful, you two," she advised as she left. Kyle groaned.

"I take it she's not under control?" he asked Stan under his breath. Stan could tell Kyle was trying to lighten the situation, but his emotions had plummeted again.

"Not yet," he said gloomily, "but I'm sure word will reach her soon enough." He felt an unusual warmth on his hand. Kyle's hand was on his. His cheeks flushed a little. He reminded himself that it was just a platonic act, they were close friends, Kyle had no idea what had happened, he should stop over analysing right now and Kyle was talking, what had he said?

"Stan? Dude, you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"Yeah. It's all cool." The hand was withdrawn. They switched on the TV, which unsurprisingly completely failed to cause any damage to Kyle. As always, the time came too soon for Stan to leave. He groaned about the time, he grumbled about school nights, he fidgeted and procrastinated from leaving, but the time had come. He had to wave farewell to years of friendship.

"See you tomorrow," said Kyle as Stan pulled his trainers on.

"See you," Stan mumbled. He got as far as the door before he turned around. "Dude," he began, his voice completely serious, "you're...the best person I've ever met. You're really, y'know, important to me." Kyle stared at him like Stan was the one who needed to be bed bound.

"Are you dying?" Kyle asked, straight faced.

"No! What kind of question is that?"

"You're acting like you'll never see me again. Or you've turned into a massive fag." Stan forced a laugh.

"I've missed having you around," he lied. "See you!" He bolted before he could break out into any more sappy crap.

His home, if not exactly welcoming, was at least a shield from the stares he had been getting all day. It was even relatively peaceful, until around midnight, when it sounded as if his house was being broken into by an elephant.

"Stan! Stan!" His father's voice staggered from octave to octave and from high to low volume like a drunk staggering along a street. Stan groaned but went to see what his father wanted. His father was collapsed at the base of the stairs, sporting a new black eye.

"Yeah, dad?"

"I did it! I fought for your rights!"

"What rights?"

"Your right to fuck your new butt buddy!"

"I don't have a butt buddy, dad." Randy's face fell.

"Kyle broke up with you? Lemme go speak to him!"

"No! We were never dating!"

"I'm so sorry, Stan! We'll find you a new butt buddy! One even more fabullillious than Kyle!"

"Who did you fight, anyway?" Stan's eyebrows shot up. "Not Kyle's dad?!"

"No, he was on my side...I think. He said that you two should fuck if you wanted to, anyway. I don't know who he ended up fighting."

Stan pinched his nose and let out a prolonged growl. Behind him, his parents' bedroom door open and his mother came out, dressed in a nightgown and a frown.

"Randy! What're you doing?"

"Sharon! I protected Stan's right to fuck his friend!"

"I'm going to bed!" Stan yelled.

"Why don't you ring up your little friend first? He can even come over if you want! Because I'm such a cool parent!"

"What kind of example do you think you're setting?" Sharon hissed.

"A supportive one! Sharon, our boy loves cock and I'm supporting his right to love it! And if you can't accept that, then you're -"

"I'm fine with Stan's sexuality! I'm not fine with you coming back drunk late at night after picking fights!"

"I'm representing my son!" Stan decided he had had enough. Even school was better than this.


	6. The Revolutionary Resolution

The Revolutionary Resolution

Kyle was no detective. He had passed that career opportunity over years ago and had no plans of resuming his prestigious position. He had learned nothing during that brief period. He had no history of a love of crime fiction. He possessed, in short, no special sleuthing skills. And yet, with no effort whatsoever, he could deduce that something was amiss.

He had tried to take Stan up on his promise that today, Stan's miraculous plan would be revealed. He could guess that this was not going to happen when Stan started talking urgently about the weather, their homework and the state of government in southern France as soon as they met up at the bus stop. All requests for information were ignored completely with a dismissive "later, dude". They boarded the bus and Kyle could feel hundreds of eyes on him and Stan, noting their every breath, but his friend was revealing nothing.

School was just like the bus, only on a much larger scale. Their every move was monitored and Kyle could feel their gazes, he could hear their whispers, he could smell the suspicion in the air and yet Stan was acting as if all was normal. In homeroom, even the teacher kept glancing at him and Stan. Kyle had always hated the kind of reality television which filmed every second of people's lives. It was intrusive and morally bankrupt. But right now, he envied the contestants. At least they had chosen their situation, knew the rules and stood a chance of winning a considerable prize. Right now, he felt as if he had been brought into the world poker championships without having seen a pack of cards before in his life.

The situation managed to deteriorate further when he was separated from Stan. People continued to stare at him, but now they tried to speak to him too, and it was evident that the whole school was aware of something he hadn't been included in.

"Oh my god, Kyle!" Bebe gushed when she saw him attempting to leave his classroom. "How're things between you and Stan? I guess it's a little hard to adjust to, right?"

"They're...fine. Normal."

"That's great! You're such a great friend, Kyle!"

"...thanks?"

"But really," she said, and leaned in closer to speak to him. "You should think about things. I know it might not be how you imagined your future...but man, Stan is cute!"

"...right. I have Chemistry now. See you, Bebe." Kyle turned away, ignoring her calls for him to return. He didn't get very far. Powder jumped in front of his path, clearly deciding to abandon the more polite method of asking for Kyle's attention.

"Did you turn Stan down?"

"What?!"

"Did – you – turn – Stanley – Marsh – down?" Powder asked again, rolling her eyes.

"No!" Her eyes lit up.

"So you are dating?" she whispered.

"No!" She frowned and flicked her hair back.

"Fine, whatever. De Nile isn't just a river in China."

"No. It's a river in Egypt. And that saying was trite years ago." He dashed off before he could hear another mangled witticism. He fled to the Chemistry room, praying for some kind of scientific sanctuary.

"Hey, Kyle!" Kyle groaned. Cartman was in this class. How could he even dream of sanctuary?

"What?"

"Stan's looking all butthurt. Have you been taking advantage of his new pussy-ness?"

"What the hell are you talking about, shitface?"

The shouts of the teacher for attention denied Kyle his much needed explanation. He had to endure the next hour of class, knowing that everyone knew something he didn't, whilst feeling like the newest exhibit at a zoo.

Kyle sped to his next class as soon as the bell rang. This meant he successfully bypassed most of the student traffic in the corridors. He grabbed Kenny as soon as he entered the next class and pulled him into the seclusion of the nearest closet to talk.

"Dude, if Stan knows you're doing this to me, he'll have my balls off," Kenny told him. "You should really be dragging him into closets with you."

"What the fuck are you talking about? What did Stan do yesterday?" Kyle demanded. Kenny stared at him.

"Stan hasn't told you?"

"Told me what?"

"Shit, dude. I figured you'd be the first to know."

"Well, I'm not, and I'm being asked some pretty fucked up questions!" Kenny shrugged.

"I'd better not tell you. I guess it makes sense."

"Kenny! How can you do this to me?" Kyle implored him. Kenny just shook his head.

"Someone else'll probably tell you. But if Stan hasn't already, he probably wants to tell you at the right time."

"But everyone already thinks I know!"

"You're smart. You can fake it. Now can we get out of here? I'm not interested in you like that, unless you've been a girl all your life and forgotten to tell anyone." Kyle stormed out of the closet, Kenny at his heals. The corridors were mercifully empty. They were excused their tardiness when Kyle explained that they had thought Kenny was having a severe heart attack, but they received some suspicious looks from their fellow students.

As soon as the lunch bell rang, Kyle strode downstairs to the maths classroom. He waited by the door of room S16. As expected, Stan emerged. Kyle wordlessly grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the opposite classroom. He opened the desk drawer, ignoring Stan's questions as to what the hell was going on, and pulled out a key. He locked the room door and turned to Stan.

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Stan asked, although his guilt was evident in his face.

"Why is it that people have been watching me all day? What're they all talking about? What, precisely, is up with people asking me if we're dating and people urging me to consider being with you?"

"I dunno?"

"Really. Kenny said you'd want his balls."

"What? Why? What's he told you?"

"Because I pulled him into a closet with me, but he wouldn't explain anything."

"Why'd you take him into a closet?"

"To find out what's going on. Because you won't tell me. But he just said you probably wanted to tell me yourself. Since you're so reticent, I'd better go find him." Stan threw his arms up into the air.

"Fine. I told them all that I was bi." Stan studied Kyle's face closely, but his friend remained impassive.

"Are you?"

"Yeah."

"Are you attracted to me?" Stan gulped. His eyes finally left Kyle's face. The question had been answered. Kyle moved closer to Stan.

"Don't worry," Stan muttered, taking a few steps back and hopping neatly onto a desk. "I won't act on it. I know things won't be the same between us, but -" Kyle's tongue in his mouth obstructed the rest of the words from coming out. Stan found himself pushed down onto the desk, his best friend weighing down on top of him. He brushed all questions of why this was happening aside; the only thing that mattered was that it was happening and he was going to enjoy it while he could. He kissed Kyle back, knocking his hat asunder with a stroke of his hand so he could run his fingers through the wild locks he'd uncovered.

"Dude, you should have told me before you told the school," said Kyle, still so close that Stan could count his eyelashes.

"I get that now. And when were you gonna tell me?" Kyle had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Anyway, we have to sort this mess out."

"It's not that bad."

"It is bad," Kyle insisted. "It's bad because Cartman thinks he's won."

"He'll get over it. We have better things to do." Stan leaned up to kiss Kyle again, but Kyle moved away.

"We're going to spoil his fun by doing those things."

"Oh. That's cool."

It was admittedly with a little discomfort that Stan strode down the hallway to homeroom. Kyle's ingenious plan had many benefits, the most pressing one being his hand currently being lodged in the back pocket of his new boyfriend's trousers, but there was one major drawback. Everyone was staring at them.

"But that's the point," Kyle had said before, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "And Cartman's fun is spoilt!"

Stan still wasn't quite so sure of this. Right now, every whisper seemed like a needle in his flesh, and they were coming in droves. Then again, on the plus side, he was holding Kyle's ass. He gave it another squeeze. Kyle smiled at him and reciprocated with a squeeze of his own. The needles seemed to dissolve for a while.

"FAGS!" They turned to face Cartman, who was bent over and panting heavily. "It's – true - then," he wheezed. "You two really are the faggiest fags in fagland!"

"Cartman, we're in the same country," Stan pointed out. "If we're in fagland, so are you."

"Don't throw your fag-logic at me!" Cartman yelled. "You two are fags and everyone knows it!"

"Oh no. What gave it away?" Kyle asked.

"Everyone knows! Everyone in the whole school, the whole city, the whole STATE, now knows that you two are gaywads!"

"And?" Cartman stared.

"And your cover is blown!"

"What cover?" asked Stan.

"You two have been hiding your little gay romance! You can't fool me!"

"We're not hiding anything, fat-ass." Cartman pointed an accusing finger, his mouth half open, ready to spew more words, but none came forth.

"We're dating now," said Stan. "And we don't give a fuck what you think."

"But you guys are being totally gaaaaay," Cartman whined.

"We noticed, moron," said Kyle.

"But – but – but you guys, you'll be making out with another guy and it's gonna be totally groooooss."

"It isn't, actually."

"Gross! I don't wanna hear what sick perverted stuff you two get up to!"

"All week you've been talking about it, Cartman!" Stan snapped.

"Yeah, but – you see-" Cartman gave up. "Screw you guys, I'm going to class."

"Good. Leave us alone. We're going to be gay. Possibly against your locker," said Kyle.

"SICK!" Cartman yelled. He fled the scene as quickly as he could, which really wasn't very quickly at all. Stan and Kyle watched him leave. People around them began to wander off. The spectacle was no fun when it was so obvious. The two boys resumed walking to class.

"Want to come around to mine tonight?" Stan asked.

"Sure. Your parents going to mind...?"

"Both our dads fought for our right to have sex yesterday. It'll be fine."


End file.
